Emeralds Are Tougher Than Diamonds
by Confessed Geek
Summary: One Of Gotham's most norturious villains grins at him and waves, making his eyes widen before he glances up towards the Heavens – because he was convinced this was Dumbledore's way of continuing to fuck with his life. Or maybe Sirius had a sicker sense of humour than he thought. Just his bloody luck.
1. First, Second, and Final Meetings

_**Hopefully I will be seeing many of my old and new reader here despite my negligence -**_

 _ **You guys might recognize this chapter...at first glance. ;)**_

 **Disclaimer: _I own nothing of Harry Potter or Suicide Squad/Batman comics, all rights go to their respective creators. I just own this plot bunny and a laptop._**

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 **First, Second and Final Meetings**

When Harley first stumbles upon him - she almost walks by. The figure had been a familiar one, one she had seen at nearly every street alley in this part of Gotham - a young man leaning up against a building with his head bowed as he reads a newspaper by the streetlight. Indeed, her blue eyes had skimmed over his seemingly worn jeans, long-sleeved white t-shirt and a mess of pitch-black hair. It was boring, common, she had almost turned away -

Then the young man had looked up, his eyes meeting hers and Harley sucked in a breath. He had the prettiest eyes. Even in the dark alley downtown in Gotham, his eyes shone like bright, glittering emeralds.

Oh - those eyes, they fit nicely on his face too. Even with the shadows under his eyes Harley could not deny the loveliness of the boy's features. The strong jaw, the cheekbones - the dark pink pout of his lips against slightly tanned skin...

He was so lovely - so pretty even though he wasn't smiling.

Harley hadn't had anyone to play with in awhile; perhaps she could make him smile.

However, before she could so much as take a step in his direction, the boy had tucked the newspaper under his arm and began walking off. Harley tried to catch up, but somehow she managed to lose the boy on her home turf. It irritated the Queen of Gotham - knowing her latest person of interest had evaded her. She was quick to shrug the feeling off though when her Puddin' texted her to join him in a bank robbery, skipping happily in the direction.

The green-eyed boy doesn't come to mind until she is gazing at the Joker's hair with the sudden thought that the boy's eyes had been brighter.

 ** _I~I_**

It is a week later when she sees the emerald-eyed young man again. His clothes are the same; typical of many runaways in Gotham. But they are also clean; significantly less typical. He is reading a newspaper, his teeth biting his lower lip as he flips through. Harley knows she ought to be in there somewhere, even if it is only a small section (though that is doubtful). She and her Puddin' had pulled off three heists this week and had a nice fight with Batsy too; it would be a crime if they weren't in the paper.

Vaguely, she wonders if the boy would remember her.

As if to answer her unspoken question, his vivid green eyes meet hers even from across the street. They blink once, then twice before widening in recognition - his lips parting. Harley smiles and winks, a giggle escaping her as the boy glances down once at the newspaper then back at her.

Suddenly, his expression changes, and while that is to be expected _how_ it changes is not - there's no anger or disgust in his gaze, and on the other end there's not any awe or lust. There is just... _annoyance;_ undisguised _irritation_ and Harley does not know what to think when the boy looks up at the sky as if to say: "Really?"

By the time Harley is able to get over her surprise, the boy had folded the newspaper and walked off - disappearing on her _again._

Harley feels the stirring of anger in her stomach. This was unacceptable. She was Queen and she ruled these streets - the people _bowed_ before her, especially the people who had never met her personally. And even those that didn't would never, ever _ignore_ her.

They feared the consequence.

Perhaps that's why despite her anger, Harley's never-ending curiosity reared it's head along with her hunger for challenges. Because if the boy knew who she was and still chose to ignore her - then he certainly had balls.

A smile spread across her face at the thought, a gleeful giggle escaping her. The next time they met - and they'd be sure to meet - Harley would make sure he played.

 ** _I~I_**

There was chaos.

Wonderful, glorious _chaos._

It was in the terror of the tellers and customers at the bank. The lines of their face, the heaviness of their breathing, the sweatiness of palms and the air _smelt_ of it.

She could hear Puddin laughing - hear a woman and her baby shrieking...

That sound was less pleasing.

Harley didn't have a problem with killing men or women (because she knew how dangerous they could be) but children had always been a no-go for her. Families even less so...

She had been a psychologist once, she had met with children who had been orphaned, placed in homes. She knew the terrible things that could occur there...But she pushes it from her mind, her best maniacal smile spreading across her lips as she took aim at one of the men behind the desk and told him to get down on his knees which he does without compliant. After all, she was the fucking _Queen._

A quick bash over the head ensures that the man won't ruin her fun as she locates the hidden stash under some loose tiles. She grins – they'd gotten smarter – but not smart enough.

Giddily, she starts filling the bags with money – only to be interrupted by the sound of the cops rushing in. She rolls her eyes. The GCPD always crash the party...

Cocking her revolver she stays crouched behind the desk. When she hears rushing footsteps rushing towards the desk, she stands quickly and fires four time in quick succession. She ducks back behind as two bullets go sailing past where her head had been a second ago, laughing when she heard two bodies fall and several curses.

"Is that all you've got boys?" She trills, rolling away from the cabinet as five bullets went through. Her eyes brighten. "Oh...you know how to play..." She stands and shoots, overconfidence overriding reason as she stayed standing for another few seconds to gloat. "But not enough to..."

 _ **BANG!**_

The smile melts from Harley's face as pain registers below her left shoulder just under her collarbone that is spreading like the fire she is so used to setting. She meets brown eyes. She fires. The body falls back...or is she falling?

She thinks she hit head head, but she can't tell... Everything hurts so bad...

 _ **CRACK!**_

That must be her head. Like the voices...she can hear voices...no a voice. Puddin? No. This voice is different...

"Bloody hell...I'm going to regret this."

An Accent? It's actually kind of nice...A hand presses down firmly where it hurts the worst and this is not nice... _not nice!_ More words – gibberish spoken in that lovely voice and the pain just starts to fade...

"- I hope the psycho with the green hair and face-fuckup isn't your boyfriend. There are plenty of better looking hitmen than him out there..."

What?

The pain is mostly gone, and the hand on her wound...(is there a wound?) begins to rise. Instinctively, Harley's left hand shoots out to grab it – her blue eyes cracking open...Only to widen as the pair of the most lovely green eyes gaze back in shock. "Who're ya?" She whispers after a moment, but the young man shakes his head and pries her fingers off his wrist.

Harley's eyes narrow and she tries to sit up as he walks away only to feel dizzy. "Who're ya?!" She calls at his back.

Burning emerald eyes meet hers. _"_ _Obliviate."_

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 ** _Feedback in any form, as always, is welcome._**


	2. In The Dark Of Night

**_Takes place before the movie._**

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He has nightmares. In the darkness, when she lies alone in bed – she hears them coming from the timed recorder she placed in his room in case he had any plans of escape. (Ironic, as it only picks up sounds that hint at something he _can't_ escape from.)

They are mostly incoherent; just the usual cries for help, and those of sorrow... but there are some times when she can hear a name (sometimes several) plead out in desperation amidst all the chaos. On those nights she would rise from her bed and pad over to his room – stopping herself just before entering.

She would stand there for what seemed like hours, wondering what was holding her back from entering a room in her own house and growing furious at herself...

But never enough to open the door.

Her hand would rest on the doorknob, feeling the coolness of the metal beneath her hands as Harry's screams faded to whimpers and eventually to silence, waiting there for what seemed like ages until an invisible force pulled her away.

She would crawl back into bed and lie there staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep – wondering why she couldn't open the door this time when she had promised she would (as she always does). Because she _knows_ for certain now that Harry has PTSD – though from what she doesn't know...

(And she isn't sure she wants to – because whatever could scar such a beautiful young man so bad that he screams worse than her Puddin's most unlucky victims in their last moments?)

The only clues are names of, what she thinks (fears), the dead.

 _CedricSirusFredGinnyColinDumbledoreLavenderRemusTonksSnapeMomDad..._

She remembers them all - all two hundred and fifty– and it _scares_ her.

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